“Hey, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” says Chris Pratt, standing 6’2” tall and half-naked, shaking your hand. Politely, he asks, “Would you like me to put a shirt on?”
Is this a trick question?
You arrived at the Hollywood Loft studio photo shoot and saw him approaching through the streaming sunlight, backlit like a god—make that a Star-Lord—his Marvel-hero thighs flexing beneath tight tan jeans, his brassbuckled belt aglow, his scuffed, squaretoed cowboy boots kicking dust motes into the air. You didn’t see the massive, muscled shoulders; smooth, polished chest; articulated, smiling pecs; fourand-a-half-pack abs.… And you still don’t see any of this, because you, my friend, are on a serious assignment. You are the Christiane Amanpour of celebrity journalism.
“He looks like your friend’s hot brother when you…
